Fathers’ Day

There have been a couple of posts on Father’s Day recently. John Inge, Bishop of Worcester, started the roll, and Dave Walker has a number of other links here on the Church Times blog.

I retain a little scepticism at this new-found festival. Not that I have anything against fathers – I have an excellent father, and indeed I have been one myself for nearly 2 decades. It’s just that Fathers’ Day seems to have arrived somewhat out of the blue in the early 20 century (dare one say it, from the States) as a complementary celebration to Mothering Sunday. Well it must be for real now that the Church of England have prayers for it. And actually I quite like the What Dads Add link site, so perhaps I am just being churlish.

In 2008, Michael Colclough, previously my Team Rector in Uxbridge, moved from a subsequent position as Bishop of Kensington, to be a residentiary canon at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. Michael promptly started calling in favours from many of his previous contacts, including a number of the previous team clergy, inviting people to preach at the cathedral on the weeks Michael was ‘canon in residence’. It was a surprise and a joy to be asked to preach at St. Paul’s in June 2008, on what transpired to be Fathers’ Day, and also one of the church’s newer ‘saints’ Evelyn Underhill, remembered on 15 June, which happens to be being commemorated today, exactly a year later.

Outside St. Pauls Catheral, London
Outside St. Paul's Catheral, London
St. Pauls Cathedral Service Order 15-28 June 2008
St. Paul's Cathedral Service Order 15-28 June 2008

Preaching at St. Paul’s is a unique experience – never have I been ‘wanded’ by a wandsman to my place in church, or had to climbing so many stairs to a pulpit, or measure each spoken phrase so carefully as to allow the natural reverberation of the building to subside. I think it added about 10-15% additional time to the sermon delivery time (making me slightly over-run my allotted time!).

For the 5 years I was at Uxbridge, St Paul’s was ‘my’ cathedral, and it was always awe inspiring to gather with fellow clergy for the ‘blessing of the oils service’ in Holy Week under the majestic dome. So I loved the opportunity of being there – chances like that don’t come very often. And thanks particularly to Bishop Michael for sharing that with me, another example of the generosity of the man I typically experienced as a colleague in his team. Incidentally, the service order above also mentioned that the preacher the following Sunday at evensong was one of my other colleagues from Uxbridge days with +Michael, Carolyn Headley, for whom I had to be ‘priests hands’ for a while, until she was ordained priest herself. The preacher on the morning I was there was Andrew Watson, who very shortly after, was announced as Bishop of Aston.

You can click on the page below to download the sermon, or follow it in the full sermon text further down. I found some nice bits from Mark Twain, and some from Evelyn Underhill – and even manged to gently question this transatlantic infiltrator of a festival, without offending too many of the American cousins in the congregation.

Fathers Day 2008 Evensong Sermon at St Pauls
Father's Day 2008 Evensong Sermon at St Paul's

You can also find the original article on my ‘Papers‘ page.

The full text follows:

Evensong Sermon – St Paul’s Cathedral – 15 June 2008

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

A number of years ago, before Bishop Michael was Canon Pastor; before his episcopal, or even archidiaconal responsibilities, when he was a humble Team Rector, I was a junior part of that Team. So all these years later it was a privilege and a joy to be invited by him to speak at his new pad. Or at least that was what I thought until I saw the readings for Evening Prayer set for the day, and I quickly cottoned on to why he was so generously inviting me on this occasion… As one who usually starts with the scriptures in preaching, on the basis that at least where I am not theologically sound, at least the Bible is, I struggled a bit with these passages: Beelzebub in the NT; and in the OT, King Achish says “Look at the man! He is insane! Why bring him to me? Am I so short of madmen that you have to bring this fellow here to carry on like this in front of me?”. Frightening words for any visiting preacher to hear in a reading!

Had this been a Eucharistic service, I am sure I could have worked on some interesting reflections picking up on King David’s request for ‘five loaves of bread’, even if he did not mention fish. But this is not a Eucharist. So I started to explore other possible themes.

My home parish is Copthorne, near Gatwick airport, just into Sussex if you were on your way down to Brighton from here. One of my congregation reminded me that I ought not to lose sight of the fact that Magna Carta was signed on 15 June in 1215.

King John, who as AA Milne reminds us, was ‘not a good man’, had a run-in with the church. About how the Crown appoints bishops.

“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose”. How things change (!)
However King John forgot that if you are having a row, it is risky to have it with those who write the history books. Those monks were not called “clerks” in holy orders for nothing – and perhaps that was the start of his losing his reputation, becoming known as ‘not a good man’.
Magna Carta however enshrined a number of rights that remain in the law of the land even today. Not only the ‘almost late lamented’ habeus corpus if we are to understand David Davis, but also some pertinent Church law too. I brought a copy with me. Apparently there were many copies made – it is probably the sort of thing St Paul’s has an original copy of, in a drawer downstairs somewhere:

    Clause I says: FIRST, We have granted to God, and by this our present Charter have confirmed, for Us and our Heirs for ever, that the Church of England shall be free, and shall have all her whole Rights and Liberties inviolable.

The freedoms of the Church of England were at one point from the constraints of a monarch; but were later used against as a protection from those across the Tiber too. No point in letting a good law go to waste.

There are perhaps some other themes around today we may pick up on. Our American brothers and sisters have brought us many good gifts, but I am sometimes a little dubious about some of imports that have made it across ‘the pond’. Not all of them fit easily into British Culture as perhaps rock & roll, or McDonald’s have been able to. Take trick or treat, for example – or, for today, Father’s Day. They have the reputation of being rather tacky, commercial enterprises, with little substance.

I paused to think over fatherhood a little though. I have two teenage girls, who keep me from becoming too complacent about my place in the world. They greeted the news of my being at St Paul’s this evening with the degree of indifference only teenagers can. One said she was working, attempting to earn some money to offset the looming Student Loan; – or to buy another pair of shoes – I forget which. The other decided to – er – stay at home. Probably watching ‘Scrubs’.

One American certainly knew where my teenage children were coming from was Mark Twain. Even if he later changed his opinion, he famously said of his father:
“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.
But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

In our family we have been privileged to have some excellent role-models of fatherhood, though I am aware that for some individuals that is not the case. It is interesting to observe for example that though Twain made a joke about his father, in reality his father died of pneumonia when Mark Twain was 11 years old. For some, fathers have been absent, for others they have been abusive – which gives us such great difficulty when trying to bring to people the prayer that Jesus taught us. Our Father.

That leads us to perhaps another echo for today. A local saint. – Well almost local, and almost a saint.

Almost a saint, because Evelyn Underhill the Anglican writer on mysticism & worship, who lived between 1875-1941, is commemorated on 15 June in the Common Worship lectionary.

And almost local, because she was educated at King’s College for Women, London, where she read history and botany; and later elected a Fellow.

She was in her thirties before she began to explore religion. At first, she wrote on the mystics, most notably in her book Mysticism, published in 1911. Her spiritual journey took her from the Church of England, through the Roman Catholic Church, and brought her in 1921 back to the Church of England, in which she had been baptized and confirmed.
From the mid-1920s, she became highly-regarded as a retreat conductor and an influential spiritual director. Of her many books, Worship, published in 1936, embodied her approach to what she saw as the mystery of faith.
To quote from one of her meditations, possibly a retreat script:

From Abba – a treatise on The Lord’s Prayer
In those rare glimpses of Christ’s own life of prayer,
which the Gospels vouchsafe to us,
we always notice the perpetual reference to the unseen Father;
so much more vividly present to Him [Christ] than anything that is seen.
Behind that daily life into which He entered so generously,
filled, as it was, with constant appeals to His practical pity and help,
there is ever the sense of that strong and tranquil Presence,
ordering all things
and bringing them to their appointed end;
not with a rigid and mechanical precision,
but with the freedom of a living, creative, cherishing thought and love.


Throughout His life,
the secret,
utterly obedient conversation of Jesus with His Father goes on.
He always snatches opportunities for it,
and at every crisis He returns to it
as the unique source of confidence and strength;
the right and reasonable relation between the soul and its Source.

I’m not very good with word’s – though here Underhill has done well to capture my imagination too. I often use graphic images in my home territory, projected on to a screen that subtly appears, and can then disappear, whilst I am preaching – though I understand that practice has got some clergy into deep trouble.

The image I think I would be projecting now, had I had the opportunity here, would be Rembrandt’s Loving Father or Prodigal Son.
Painted in his old age, Rembrandt’s portrayal is of one who has discovered that ‘the old man has learned a lot’, – as has his son. Here is a father, an abused and ignored father, who still reaches out to caress his wayward offspring, welcoming the prodigal home again.

So on this – Father’s Day – let us reflect on our God and our Father

    Of the Son’s relationship with the Father
    Of the prodigal son’s relationship with his father
    Of our relationship with our own human father, if we knew them
    For those who are fathers, of our relationship with our children
    For single parents who have had to be both mother and father to their children
    Let us remember the pain of strained or broken parental relationships
    Let us seek ways to enhance the status and quality of fatherhood in our families, communities, and churches
    Let us remember our Heavenly Father’s desire to welcome and to forgive

We return to Evelyn Underhill, in her meditation called Abba, the word Jesus used to speak to God, the word sometimes respectfully translated as Daddy:
Our inheritance IS God, our Father and Home.
We recognize Him,
[Underhill, referring to St. John of the Cross, quotes]
because we already carry in our hearts a rough sketch of the beloved countenance.
Looking into those deeps,
as into a quiet pool in the dark forest,
we there find looking back at us the Face we implicitly long for and already know. [The Spiritual Canticle. 2nd Version, stanza . 17]
It is set in another world, another light:
yet it is here.
As we realize this, our prayer widens,
until it embraces the extremes of awe­struck adoration and confident love
and fuses them in one.


Let us pray:

    A Collect for Evelyn Underhill
    O God, Origin, Sustainer, and End of all your creatures:
    Grant that your Church, taught by your servant Evelyn Underhill,
    guarded evermore by your power,
    and guided by your Spirit into the light of truth,
    may continually offer to you all glory and thanksgiving,
    and attain with your saints to the blessed hope of everlasting life,
    which you have promised us by our Savior Jesus Christ;
    who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God,
    now and for ever. Amen.

The Rev’d Alastair Cutting, Vicar of Copthorne
15 June 2008

Got up with Gav

Affectionately known as ‘Get up with Gav‘, the BBC Southern Counties Sunday Breakfast programme is hosted by Gavin Ashenden. Gavin is a good friend, who I have significantly more respect for after seeing him ‘behind the wheel’ of a live 3-hour programme. For someone who gives the impression of being slightly affectionately and delightful disheveled in life, he is amazingly in control of the multitude of threads needing to be woven together for such a live broadcast.

Alastair in the Brighton Studio with Gavin at Stupid oclock
Alastair in the Brighton Studio with Gavin at Stupid o'clock

It reminded me a little of visiting the local Radio Nottingham studios as part of a my pre-ordination training, and seeing a young ‘DJ’, who we knew from our local church at the time, deftly flicking records on to the decks, whilst handling a mid-morning phone-in, and managing to take time to talk to a group of ordinands visiting the station. On returning home, I said to Kay “That broadcaster is going to go a long way; we will have to keep an eye out for him.” Within weeks, he had been transferred to Radio 1. His name? Simon Mayo.

A minute is a very short time to say anything sensible at all, really (though local colleague Kevin managed to keep his ‘sermon’ within the 60 seconds a couple of weeks before me!).

Having been through a few Robin Hood related places recently, the affable outlaw became my subject. (See these links for more on Robin.)

Click the Play arrow below to hear the interview/sermon

[audio src="http://acutting.org/files/aud/AlastairGavin14June2009.mp3" /]

One of the interesting asides I came across whilst researching for the ‘sermon’ was a feeling of being stalked by Robin. Or I suppose, more properly, as I was following him, I was the stalker. Not only did he have the familiar Nottingham connections, where I had done my training at Theological College; but my two following curacies in South Yorkshire also had Robin connections. My first parish post was at All Saints Woodlands, just north of Doncaster, where there is not only a Robin Hood stream, but stories of Robin being in the local Barnsdale forest (the area is not far north of Sherwood forest).

My second parish placement was at the parish church in Wadsley, in Sheffield. On the edge of the parish was the village of Loxley, possibly also spelt Locksley, where in some traditions Robin Hood was born. I was involved in planting a new congregation from the church, based in a school in Loxley during my time in the parish. Fascinating that these three ‘place links’ should show up around three of our successive homes. My investigations have not revealed that Robin Hood has any connections with Copthorne

1 Minute Sermon - 14 June 2009 - Robin Hood
Text of the 1 Minute Sermon - 14 June 2009

You can also find the original article on my ‘Papers‘ page. Other recent epsiodes for Sunday Breakfast may be available on iPlayer here.

The full text follows:

I’ve been through Robin Hood territory a couple of times recently. Yesterday I was in Nottingham, and I recently passed through where Robin is reputed to have been born, in the village of Loxley, which now rather overtaken by it’s neighbouring village of Sheffield; and Hathersage where Little John is supposedly buried. I will spare you my rendition of any of the Robin Hood songs, especially at this time in the morning!

But most of us know some of the tales of Robin Hood, and his band of men, stealing from the rich to give to the poor; righting wrongs, battling on behalf of the oppressed, fighting for justice. (I am pleased to observe that this group included a cleric; though Friar Tuck does not always personify priests in their best light!)

Of course, both Robin Hood, and his band of followers were no favourites with the authorities. Being pursued by the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Guy of Gisborne, and bunches of soldiers is the stuff of so many action adventure books or films. A hero.

Another hero, with a band of followers; pursued by the authorities, on the side of the little people, recognising and supplying the needs of the poor, was of course Jesus. So no wonder there are so many stories of him too, not just in the written Biblical record, but in songs and mystery plays; in paintings and in films – throughout the world, and throughout history.

The authorities thought they had him, bound, nailed, crucified – dead. But more dramatically than any fictional action hero, with a single bound he is free: risen, his foes vanquished!

No wonder so many of the tales of Robin Hood are so appealing – and interesting to see their precursor, in a way, in the radical Jesus of the gospels.

Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Riding through the glen,
(Robin Hood, Robin Hood, With his band of men,)
Feared by the bad, loved by the good,
Robin Hood! (Robin Hood! Robin Hood!)

Drat – I promised not to sing…

Following Celtic footsteps

In May 2008 I joined a handful of others on 5-day pilgrimage. I had been to Iona several times, but only ever seen LindisfarneHoly Island – from the train window. A year later, reminiscing our little pilgrimage to the North East, I thought I would put some photos etc. up.

Lindisfarne Island from Cuthbert's 'Cuddy' Island
Lindisfarne Island from Cuthbert's 'Cuddys' Island

Today (26 May) may be the feast of St. Augustine of Canterbury, but I am reminded of comments by a previous Geordie Bishop of Sheffield, who over 20 years ago spoke to a group of us young curates of the diocese: his faith was built on the foundations laid by the British Christian Saints such as Cuthbert, Aidan, and Hilda, and he had little time for “those Johnny-come-lately Romans such as Augustine”. If memory serves correctly, it was these saints that adorned the stained-glass windows of the Woodlands parish, where I was then curate.

Cuthbert’s base in Lindisfarne became a key launchpad for Celtic Christianity in North-East England in the 7th Century. The island, still cut off from the mainland by the tide twice a day, is traditionally approached by pilgrims wading barefoot across the causeway. (We cheated, went by bus, and then walked the causeway at leisure a day or two later.)

Pilgrims Feet
Pilgrim's Feet

Being on Lindisfarne – in blustery May – was surprisingly idyllic. I can still hear the skylark’s singing in the sky above the meadows near Lindisfarne castle. Far from the physical extremes of weather, distance and austerity that drew Cuthbert and the early settlers there. We were a bit ‘fair-weather’ pilgrims; but the feeling of being in a ‘thin place‘, as the Celtic Christians called such holy places, where heaven and earth are somehow much closer, was still very evident to us. A short, but very inspiring and refreshing and spiritual few days.

Some of the photos from our time are in this online Lindisfarne photo gallery; and we made a short photo journal book, which can be downloded in pdf format from the link below.

Lindisfarne Pilgrimage photobook - click for 16Mb pdf download
Lindisfarne Pilgrimage photobook

Oh, and here’s another panoramic photo, also in my Flickr panoramic set. I probably have way to many photos – it could have beeen more! – per page on this blog, which probably makes it load very slowly; but they are fun…

Lindisfarne Panorama - links to original on Flickr
Lindisfarne Panorama

Panoramas, Hakas and Plinths

The Aotearoa-New Zealand High Commission in London is in a 18-storey tower-block called New Zealand House, a stones-throw from Trafalgar Square. The views from the top are spectacular – it is the tallest building for miles around that part of central London. Not quite as tall or as elegant as Skytower in Auckland, but good none-the-less.

NZ HOUSE
New Zealand House via Wikimedia
Skytower, Auckland, via 'kiwi' on Flickr

Historically, Kiwi citizens were able, on the production of a NZ passport to visit the penthouse suite at the top of the London tower block and appreciate it’s spectacular panoramic views.

For years, Kay had to wait downstairs, as Kiwi friends and visitors had the chance to view London from this unique vantage-point. When she finally got her own kiwi passport (she has dual UK/NZ nationality), and the opportunity to rise to the top floor, threats of terrorism prevented access to the public after all!

Kay has finally discovered a way to get up there though. A number of organisations run events in the penthouse suite, for example KEA, (‘New Zealand’s Global Talent Community’ – never backward in coming forward these Kiwis!) presents Continue reading “Panoramas, Hakas and Plinths”

Hillsborough +20

My wife held the phone out the window… Her Liverpool-fan brother had hoped to see the match taking place literally at the bottom of our road, just 400m from our door of our new home in Sheffield. However, the closest John got this time was absorbing the sound of the atmosphere of fans passing our house towards Leppings Lane over the phone.

This was 15 April 1989. The occasion: the Liverpool vs. Nottingham Forest FA Cup semi-final taking place in Sheffield Wednesday‘s home-ground – Hillsborough. Before the day was out, Hillsborough’s name would forever become linked with the events beginning to unfold. These are some of my personal reminiscences of the following hours, never previously recorded – sorry for the long, and rather over-personal post.

We were not around during the actual start of the match, as we had visitors with us for the day. We had moved just three weeks before to the parish of Wadsley, on the north-west edge of Sheffield, where I was the new curate. We had gone out to walk in the Peak District, on the west edge of the parish, which also stretched east into the centre of Hillsborough. Pausing for an ice-cream from a van, the girl serving asked if we had heard about the match – we asked what the current score was. She said it had just been abandoned, and there was an emergency. They were calling for help from doctors and clergy. Two of our visiting friends were clergy.

Hillsborough 1989, in Independent: Getty Images
Hillsborough 1989, in Independent: Getty Images

So, back to the house quickly to find some of my spare ‘clergy shirts’ (with dog-collars). Pam was swamped in hers; broad-chested Andy could hardly button his. We went, as requested over the radio, to the hospital to await the arrival of the injured casualties from the ground. It soon became clear few were going to arrive. Many were dead, but very few were injured and hospitalised – despite there being over 40 ambulance available near the scene.

After waiting for some time, as the evening drew on, our friends headed back to their parishes. I had met up with the vicar of our parish, David, and he and I were re-directed back to the football ground. We walked through the Leppings Lane tunnel, stood on the terraces, amongst the bent and broken metalwork where fans were crushed to death. Coach loads of families from Liverpool were beginning to arrive. It was the Liverpool fans who had been at the Leppings Lane end, and all those who died were Liverpool fans.

There had not been many large-scale disasters in the UK before this, and national disaster procedures were not at all well prepared. On this occasion, clergy were joined by social workers with counseling skills, and asked to partner each other as families arrived. Perhaps it was a particularly agnostic or suspicious group of Sheffield’s social workers who looked across at the group of clergy, but for whatever reasons, they decided that perhaps they would be better partnered amongst themselves, leaving clergy out of the loop. As families disembarked from the coaches however, they immediately recognised the significance of the dog-collars and Sally Army uniforms, and flocked towards them, rather than the group of social workers.

Once inside the gym-turned-make-shift-morgue, some details were taken. Many families were already aware that their members had died – it was mainly groups of fans standing together, and when one of the group had died, the others immediately passed the information on, mainly by land-line home phones of local parishioners of mine, as it was long before the predominance of mobile phones.

I will not ever forget the wall with dozens of Polaroid photos of the deceased stuck on it – ‘do you recognise your son from any of these photos?’. Did I mention we did not have many good procedures in place?! 20 years on I am part of the Gatwick airport emergency chaplaincy team, and regularly train in case (God-forbid) of a future disaster. Our plans and procedures are so different; partly as a result of Hillsborough.

I was with ‘Andrew’s’ family. He was in his early 20s. Tall, strong, fit. A most unlikely crush victim. But he had had the life breath squeezed out of him.

By 3am, David the vicar said to me that probably one of us ought to go back home to bed, and lead the services on the Sunday 16th morning. It was a couple of weeks after Easter. We decided David was still deeply involved; I would go home, sleep briefly, then lead the services in church. Many parishioners were shocked by what had happened so close to us. A number of people had opened their doors to the fans, wandering around in need of refreshment and needing to contact families and friends back in Liverpool. Some of my folk shared the gruesome experience of the unfolding horror.

I was just about holding it together for the service, when the door busrt open, and 4 red-clad fans came in to be with other Christians in church in prayer on Sunday. A young lad of about 14, we were informed, had lost his mother yesterday in the crush. I can’t remember what plans I had had for the service – they promptly went out of the window. Our welcome as a church, and our prayers, felt so inadequate; but were so warmly received. I wish I had known their names.

A few days later, ‘Andrew’s’ family were back at the Sheffield city mortuary, for the formal identification. I went with them again. Then a few days later I went across to Liverpool, and at the request of the family, read a lesson at his funeral service. (Later I was embarrassed by the fact that there was another woman clergy colleague, much more experienced and pastorally sensitive than me, who had also been involved – but as a woman deacon, the Roman Catholic clergy leading the service did not know what to do with her, and I was the one who ended up reading.) Years later I saw ‘Andrew’s’ mother on tv, still involved in Hillsborough related campaigns.

Again a few days later, and the bishop of Sheffield, David Lunn, very wisely got the clergy who had most closely been involved, together for a bit of a de-brief. The Archbishop of York, John Habgood was there: as was one of the clergy involved a year before at in the Kegworth disaster. It was a most helpful and cathartic experience. It directly dealt with post-traumatic stress issues for me. Except for one thing…

There were a couple of tv crews there too, later, asking questions of those involved. I kept a very low profile. I waited until all the cameras were put away, and then takled one of the reporters. Much of the coverage was – rightly – focused on “Liverpool – a city in mourning“. But as I had shared in the shock and tears of members of my own congregation, I reminded the reporter that Sheffield too was a city in mourning. The football ground now the focus of the disaster had in the past regularly accommodated nearly three times the number of fans quite safely. Here were others who ached with pain for those who had died too. Thank you, said the reporter, I will bear that in mind. And a moment later, with a tap on my shoulder, he was back, with cameras unpacked again, asking me to go over the conversation again.

In a classic piece of sub-miss-editing, the trailer that went out before the main national news that evening said ‘local vicar speaks out against Liverpool’. I rang my bishop, in horror, claiming I was sure I had said no such thing. He wisely counseled me to await the actual broadcast, where indeed I had not, but simply pointed out Sheffield also shared in the grieving that Liverpool was experiencing.

Hillsborough Memorial, from Wiki
Hillsborough Memorial, from Wiki

The following year, 15 April 1990 fell on Easter Day. For me, for us at Wadsley parish on the edge of Hillsborough, no day could have helped us to better deal with the thoughts and emotions of the year before.

So, what reflections, 20 years on? David became chaplain to Sheffield Wednesday, a post he relished for a further 15 or so years. For me personally, to have been involved in Hillsborough was a painful, but rare privilege. It has been profoundly formative on my role as a parish priest. It has helped me find particular meaning in the resurrection story of Jesus. I am not sure I have any new answers that will make sense to others – but it has been a consistent bolster to my faith over the last 20 years.

May those who died, rest in peace. May those who grieve, also find peace in Jesus, the Prince of Peace.

Rowfant Grange station, and life’s hidden little treasures

I run a regular EBAY search on Copthorne local memorabilia. Recently it threw up a post card of steam locomotive of the LB&SCR (London, Brighton and Southern Counties Railway) – a Billinton E5 class (0-6-2T),  with the name COPTHORNE emblazoned down it’s side – it intrigued me. (If items like this come in for about a ‘fiver’, I try to pick them up to add to the village archive – it now includes the said postcard.)

The E5 locomotive named Copthorne
574 'Copthorne' in LB&SCR livery

As there had been a local railway line close to Copthorne, it led me to wonder if this loco had been on the Three Bridges to East Grinstead line. There was never a station at Copthorne, but Sir Curtis Lampson, (whose wife Jane’s idea it was to build Copthorne church) made sure that there was a halt built near their residence at Rowfant House. There is a thought that gravel used for the sub-structure of the track in this section came from Copthorne, and the land that was quarried for this became the site of St. John’s Church, which is why the church is built in a bit of a hollow, rather than on a hill, as one would normally expect.

It is astonishing how much detail there is available about things like this. It is possible to trace much of the history of loco like this, from it’s manufacture in 1903 through to discover that it was re-sprayed latterly as a British Rail engine (minus the ‘Copthorne’ sadly) finally ‘retiring’ in 1956.

The previous E5 'Copthorne' in black BR livery c1951
E5 Nº32574 in BR livery

Researching a little background, I found a lot of information about the Rowfant Grange station halt, including quite a bit of background to it’s closure, on the Disused Stations site, and another link to some additional photos of Rowfant station over the years.

Then I found that the station is far from gone, but alive and well and in active use – in a miniaturised sort of way. The station has been exquisitely re-created in 00 guage by Ian White, complete with Sir Curtis Lampson waiting for his train. Ian has an extensive and detailed webpage with many snippets of information, including dates of when and where his touring model of our little piece of local history can be seen in action.

Little hidden treasures of life.

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